Living Like This, We Were Already Dead
by ToonGuy
Summary: (AU, Supernatural) Church always thought the afterlife was going to be better than this. Even if he was going to hell, it had to be better than being in the company of five of the most annoying people on the planet, as a ghost, unable to leave and being hunted down by some wacky sort of government nutjobs. Things could not get much worse. He was wrong about that, too.
1. Chapter 1

In the beginning, there was darkness.

And nothing else.

The darkness was peaceful. The darkness was quiet. The darkness was calm. It was content simply being. There was nothing to disturb it, no sound, no sight, no smells, no touch...just endless nothing.

Then some motherfucker turned on the first lightbulb and shouted out pretentiously "LET THERE BE LIGHT!" as if it sounded cool. Which it didn't. And the darkness was about to tell said motherfucker to keep the noise down when it realized it wasn't alone anymore.

The light grew and grew, and despite the best attempts at the darkness, soon there were...things in the universe. Walking. talking, laughing, crying, loving, hating THINGS.

Humans were now a close second on the darkness's most hated list. First was the light. Third, co-incidentally, was whoever came up with the idea for the platypus.

But the darkness was not willing to let itself slip away, unnoticed and forgotten. It couldn't attack the light, for though it was the original and the light was merely a bandwagon-jumper, for some reason whenever it did, the darkness felt itself being absorbed the light. At least, it couldn't attack directly. So it spread, across the world that the main source of light seemed to shine upon most. It rushed across continents, climbed over mountains and down rivers, it sought out the humans and it sought to turn them against the light.

It did so by creating strange and odd afflictions upon certain humans. And it grew and grew and grew until at last, the darkness felt as though it had it's own army ready for the waiting.

But the darkness had underestimated the light. For it too had a army. And while the Creatures of the Night (The Darkness would have filed a copyright, but those had yet to be invented) had the strange, raw power on it's side, those that fought against such perversions of nature were equipped with weapons designed specifically to kill those that sought to threaten humanity.

And so it has continued for centuries. The light and the darkness, locked in never-ending battle.

There are many chapters to this story. This is just one of them.

It features some really stupid people in it

...

2003.

"What the fuck are we even doing down here?"

"Yeah, Caboose, are you sure this isn't a sex dungeon? I mean I knew your old man was completely off the fucking wall, but still."

"Stupid Tucker! My grand-daddy was allergic to walls!"

It was a bright, hot, summer's day. Most teenagers, especially on a weekend when there was nothing more to do regarding school work, would have done a number of things. Head down to the beach, go outside for some sexy times, go for a swim, anything that meant they could get out of their houses and away from their parents and their nagging.

You would be hard pressed to find them looking for weapons. But that's what the three boys were doing down there.

The first teen was named Church. Oh, he had a first name, but he refused to use it that often. Because when life gives you a name like Leonard, you flip life off and go by the less insulting nickname. At least it could sound somewhat more badass. If used right. Not that it ever was. Dressed in casually typical teenager attire, the only thing that was really notable about it was the incredibly odd hat that he wore, covering his face. Cobalt didn't suit him, but no one...all right, a lot of people told him that, but he didn't listen to many.

The second was Lavernius Tucker. So named because his parents had wanted a smart kid, and instead they got whatever the hell Tucker was. Not that he was incredibly stupid, but he was the special kind of clever where, if he put his mind to it, he could probably make something of himself. Unfortunately, he didn't, making him a special kind of idiot. Known for having a record with women that resembled that of a arthritic baseball player, having plenty of swings but no hits, he was somewhat confrontational, which made he and Church get on like a house on fire. That is, with plenty of hurt on both sides. His attempt to look cool by adopting the aqua jacket of recently deceased Butch Flowers hadn't helped his popularity.

And then there was the third.

Oh dear lord. How to describe Micheal J Caboose? To do so would be like looking at the sun, directly. It was certainly something you COULD do, but it was something that gave many people pause as to whether they SHOULD do it.

Caboose was, to put it bluntly, incredibly dumb. Rumors were common about him. Some argued that he had been sent by a dying planet, last of their race, only for his head to smack onto a rock and promptly become the biggest waste of potential man has ever known. And that was just what his mother thought. He was known for being somewhat popular with certain ladies. This was odd, as Tucker frequently noted, because clearly Caboose couldn't be charming in his own odd way. Not when he frequently forgot to wear a safety belt to school, and so frequently had to attend the hospital. He also wore clothes that were somewhat...odd choices even by teen standards. A massive dark blue overcoat, for example, was not something that Vogue would ever put on their front cover.

But somehow, fate in her mysterious way, brought them together as she often does, for shits and giggles. And so, on that summer afternoon, they searched the basement of Caboose's grandfather, who was pretty much Caboose with a couple of wrinkles and grey hair.

"Reds won't see it coming. Wasn't that what Flowers said?"

"Dude, check it out!" From a old box buried deep in the corner, Tucker pulled out what appeared to be a old sniper rifle. He blew on it, snickered to himself at the image and then immediately regretted it as the dust was inhaled into his sizeable lungs.

"Put it down, or you'll have someone's eye out with it." Church muttered.

"Hypocrite."

"Oh you shoot one person in the eye during paintball and-"

"GUYS! GUYS GUYS GUYS I'VE FOUND A FOOTBALL!" Church and Tucker turned in time to see Caboose put the item to his eye. "Oooh! Look, it's even got a little pin in it-"

Tucker grabbed the grenade in a flash. Church let out a wheeze of relief, and fumbled around for a cigarette. "You idiot! You could have killed me! And Church, but mostly me!"

"When are the Reds-"

"HEY DIRTBAGS!"

"Oh. Answered my own question."

...

The Reds would have been called the Scourge of the neighbourhood, had they any iota of competency. Responsible for a number of crimes, including, but limited to:

-Breaking one window in one house. By accident.  
-Several noise complaints from the sound of explosions.  
-Starting a hate group that somehow managed to end up burning out within the week.  
-Illegally using military equipment without a permit (The Blood Gulch police gave them a permit as a way to make sure that they didn't get any more arguments about it. They were stupid.  
-And finally, but by no means least, being the Reds.

Their leader was a sergeant. You would know this because he told people that when he first met them. Every. Single. Time. What his actual role had been had never been discovered, and quite frankly, no one wanted to discover it. Referred to only as 'Sarge', he was typically seen rambling on about how the blues were going to make America 'un-great' again, and how bad that was. Most people had written him off as a harmless kook, until the two months ago when he had started a gang war between himself and a teenager.

"GREAT JEFFERSON'S ANKLE BRACELET GRIF! What's taking you so damn long?!"

"Sir, I protest at my treatment. Especially because Simmons is being far more of a buttmunch than usual."

"Sir! I think you're doing great!"

"Thank you Simmons, and Grif...If you persist, I'LL PUT YOU ON HUNGER STRIKE! Now, I'm heading over there to make sure that the taco truck is secure! Both of you are on GUARD DUTY!"

Grif sighed, but complied. He had been recruited here mostly because his mother had become steadily aware that he was not good for anything else, and that being sent to military school would, if not make a man out of him, then at least get him out of the house and out of the larder. The alternatives had been going to Iraq or staying with Sarge. He regretted his choice. If he had gone to a actual war, he probably would have died but at least he would have died under the command of someone who was reasonably capable of actually understanding how the world worked.

Sarge seemed not to have that gift, and he hadn't liked Grif since the day he corrected Sarge that no, his jacket was in fact orange, not yellow. Grif was a easy target. Unfit, constantly searching for the nearest slice of something to eat and very, very prone to falling asleep.

He was also, probably, the closest thing to a sane man on the Reds. The only other man was Simmons, a Dutch-Irish teenager who hero-worshiped Sarge. To the extent that Grif wasn't sure whether or not he wanted to be Sarge's life partner, his son or some weird combination of the two. Not that he judged other people and their fetishes. Truth be told, if Sarge ordered Simmons to throw Grif under a bus, Simmons would probably do it. He'd fail, considering he was as about as weedy as a...well, weed, but he'd still give it his best shot until his back went out.

Sarge had hired the two teens to act as makeshift bodyguards. He had done so by impling that this would get the extra credit and a great deal of clout when it came to university choices.

This was probably a lie, but both men had been desperate at the time.

And so, as they waited at the park, Grif and Simmons peered forward, trying to make out if any of the Blues were there. They were sitting on one of Sarge's old, beat up classic cars that would actually fetch a pretty price if it wasn't for the fact that it resembled pestilence given a physical form.

"Hey."

"Hmm?"

"...You ever wonder-"

"Whether or not life is a meaningless cycle of death, destruction, heartbreak, loneliness, growing old until finally it all ends anti-climatically one day?"

"...Bullshit, I was wondering why we're not inside the car instead of staying out here freezing our...well, my balls off."

Simmons coughed. "Oh."

"What the fuck was-"

"Never mind."

"No, seriously-"

A bullet whistled by Grif's cap. He swore aloud and staggered back. "WHAT THE FUC-"

"TUCKER! I SAID SHOOT UP AT THEM! NOT DIRECTLY AT THEM! THEY DON'T EVEN SOUND SIMILAR WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU!?"

Tucker frowned. "Okay, coming from you, that's a bit much. Secondly, ask any chick, my aim is fiiiiine. Bow chicka bow wow!"

Church glared at Tucker, and then to the two Reds. He waved. "Hey Grif."

"Sup, Church."

"Oh, you know, we heard some shouting, sounded like your Sergeant, we figured that we should get ourselves prepared for whatever ridiculous plan you have for us today. We just as well figured that we might bring something to level the playing field."

"Huh. No kidding." Grif looked at the rifle with interest. "That's pretty not bad." He yawned. "Got to say, you scared the shit out of Dick over there."

"It's RICHARD!"

"That what your mommy calls you when you've been bad?"

"You leave my mother out of this!"

"Whatever. Hey, see you're missing the Third Musketeer."

"Huh? Oh him. We told him to stay behind in the car and wait-"

CLICK.

"-Ah. Sarge. Nice day."

"Ah knew that THIS DAY WOULD COME!"

"Here we go." Church was aware that Sarge, when under extreme emotion, had a far more pronounced Southern accent. "Hey Sarge."

"THIS IS THE END OF DAYS, BLUE!"

"Cool story brah." Tucker pulled out the rifle. "Now! Get down or-" He backed off at the sight of the shotgun pointing in his direction. "What is even your problem?! We just wear blue clothes!? THE FUCK IS EVEN WRONG WITH BLUE?!"

"HOW DARE YOU ASK ME THAT?!" Sarge's hand shook.

"I WILL SAVE YOU CHURCH! MY BEST FRIEND!" Caboose, having been watching from the trees, rushed forward, waving madly around the grenade he had found in the glove-box compartment.

"CABOO-"

...

When the police arrived, they found four shocked teenagers, one senile old man (Promptly taken into custody) and a smoking crater in the middle of the park that had used to be Leonard Church.

The two Reds were quickly led away to be questioned, while Sarge was pretty much thrown into the nearest truck and driven to his usual padded cell at the Blood Gulch Utter Whacko Institute for Weird People.

As for the Blues, they were quickly escorted to the police station, where a shell shocked Tucker and a somewhat oblivious Caboose gave a rough statement that sort of explained everything.

...

That then, was how the last day of Church's life went down.

So it came as a rather big surprise to him when the first day of his after-life started.


	2. Chapter 2

**Hey there everyone! Yep, I'm actually doing author notes this time...I forgot last time. I know, real professional of me, right? But, I'm here to set a couple of things up regarding the story. First of all, I hope you enjoyed the first chapter, or at the very least, were interested enough to continue reading. Which you'd have to be if you were reading this...hmmm.**

 **Second of all, I'm aware that there's a lot of weird stuff in the first chapter. Mostly it's for set up later, but if you have a specific question, feel free to ask.**

 **Third, I would just like to inform you that there will probably be OC's. Just because I want to expand a bit more on Project Freelancer and, if I get to it, Chorus. Just for the record. Actually, you'll be meeting one or two of them in this chapter. Fingers crossed they're okay.**

 **Have fun!**

 **...**

2005.

In the middle of a practically abandoned country road, Agent Wyoming leaned back on the glass telephone box and sighed. He glanced at the phone in his hand. Impressively, even with all the leaps in technology they had made, HQ was still as notoriously hard to contact as per usual. He stroked his mustache, not for the first time vaguely wondering if he should twirl it, or whether or not that was too obvious even for him.

Damn it, and his nice new suit was all messy too. He had argued with Cal, white just makes the dirt show up more, but would he listen? No he would-

He suddenly tensed as the phone clicked.

"Yo yo yo, Agent Wyoming! Am I recievi-o-ing you?"

Wyoming blinked, and shook his head. "...Is that Vic?"

"It totes is man, welcome- welcome to Vic! What's happenin, bro?"

There was a pause. "Have you hit your head?"

"No way, man! I just came to check in and see how you were doing on our little problem!"

"...They've redesigned you, haven't they?"

"That they have! I'm feeling fresh as a flower and ready to pollinate the world, if ya know what I-"

"Okay, this? Is not going to work. Bypass Code 2410C."

"Wait wha-" Vic's voice cut out, and Wyoming sighed in relief. He never used those codes that much, only on occasions to get the drive-thru to go a little faster, and to occasionally get a bigger bonus come Christmas time. But it was good to have them, if only for the brief executive privilege of shutting certain idiots up. He bemoaned his lack of luck once more. It couldn't have been Phylis, or Artie, it had to be fucking Vic of all people.

"Well well well." The voice that came through seemed to sound somewhat annoyed, as if being caught in the act of something naughty. "Wyoming I presume? Unless you've been a damn fool and got yourself caught, in which case-"

"Rhodes." Wyoming forced himself to say the next words. "It is good to hear you, old chum! How are the wife? Kids? Dog?"

"Still dead, Wyoming."

"Ah."

"Is there any particular reason as to why you have bypassed the normal routes of communication? I understand you're in a hurry, but that is no reason for the protocols to be ignored. They are there for a reason, other than to bog us down in red tape and paper-work."

 _And you'd know, you little shit, because you're probably the one who invented red tape, and then got a time machine just so you could come into the future and rub it in our faces. "_ Rhodes, m'boy, I had to deal with Vic."

Rhodes whistled. "Shit. You're right, he'd probably just garble it up anyway."

"That, at the least, we can agree on."

"Right." Rhodes's voice, as if it wasn't clipped enough already, somehow became even clippier. "You're to proceed for another twenty miles or so. There's a small town, should be able to find it. It's the one with the giant statue that looks like a penis. It's literally one of the few highlights the brochure saw fit to include. Blood Gulch. You're to meet up with a fellow agent and then, you shall receive co-ordinates to the target from Vic."

"Rhodes, not to be Captain Contrary, but I am perfectly capable of taking out the targets myse-"

"Texas has been spotted in the area."

Wyoming audibly swallowed. "Roger. Over and out and all that."

He hung up, having the distinct feeling that Rhodes was laughing at him. As he headed back to the car, he cursed to himself repeatedly. His usual composure had been shattered by just how miserable this place was. Desert for as far as his eye could see, save for a few buildings that look like they would fall down if someone breathed too hard. And the heat!

He wished he had brought a more modern car. Or even a car that had a functioning air conditioner.

Growling, he started up, and headed on.

Blood Gulch had better be worth it.

...

"So, Mr Tucker."

Tucker looked up. He affected a look of apathy, a well practiced look that had managed to drive a number of people who were supposedly 'concerned about his well being' round the bend over the years.

The latest one didn't even blink. In fact he had barely glanced at Tucker, save for a brief and bored look at the massive scar on his wrist. Tucker immediately wondered why fate had decided that he got the shitty scar, and geeks like Harry Potter got all the cool ones. "I understand that you still harbor some...angry feelings following the incident in 2003...would you care to-"

"Not really. I have been over this ten times with you people."

"My people?"

"Counselors. Therapists. Shrinks. Whatever you want to call them." Tucker leaned backwards, and placed his feet upon the table. The other figure didn't even move his eyes to glance at the rather muddy boots. Tucker, though he was loath to admit it, was impressed.

By this point, he had at least gotten a sigh out of the rest of those who had tried to force him into talking, but this big nosed smart ass wasn't biting. "See, I actually did go through the whole route of doing it the first two times. You know, saw some ink blots, talked out my feelings, sang Kumbaya and knocked it out of the park, may I add? And then the actual people who want to do well stop coming in and then you get the ones who just want to get the angsty teenager out of the way so they can get back to their real work."

"You're not a teenager any more, Mr Tucker." The therapist's expression was neutral. If one could read emotions on there, they'd either be liars or very, very keen of sight "You're officially a adult now. A pity to throw away a university career like you're on the track to doing."

"So what?" Tucker glanced outside. "They talked a lot of crap about getting there. Not really gonna change much, is it?"

"Let us refer back to the night of Leonard-"

"Church. He wanted to be called Church."

"...Of Leonard's death." Tucker decided he hated this therapist more than the others. They had at least respected him enough to get his friend's name right. "Now, I understand that you two had a third friend with you. Micheal J Caboose."

This was new. Usually they were all about him. Tucker shrugged. "Friend is a strong word. So's ally. And acquaintance. Really there are a lot of strong words to describe Caboose. Would you like me to tell you some of them?"

"He suffered a breakdown about eight months ago. Apparently the only reason he hadn't been given help was because his grandfather was a bit of a loon himself. One therapist broke her own leg so she wouldn't have to work with him any more. Another one attempted to throw him into a electrified pool of water. Apparently, he had been talking quite a bit about some ghost that was said to be haunting him."

"Ah, that Caboose." Tucker pretended to wipe his eye. "Always fucking nuts. But Church dying didn't cause that. He was as dumb as a box of bricks since the day he was born...or made. A idiot like that can't really be born. He'd probably have got lost when his mom was pushing him out."

The therapist stood up, placing his phone, which he had just looked at, on the table. And it was only now that Tucker noticed just how tall he was. He calmly lit up a cigarette and disdainfully looked Tucker up and down. "You know, they were talking about you like you were worth something."

"Yeah, well, a lot of people make that mistake." Tucker grinned cheerfully as he stood up, heading towards the door. "So can I go now? Only I've got a English lecture not to att-"

He stared down at the longer than natural arm that was attached to the firm hand that gripped his elbow. He looked up into the face of the therapist. His eyes flashed briefly, almost quick enough to be missed, and then Tucker was flying across the room, the force of the swing slamming him into the nearest wall.

He staggered up, aware of the intense pain in his arm. "What the fuck!?"

"You know, it wasn't easy." The Therapist (And Tucker scolded himself internally, because holy fuck therapists didn't do this sort of shit) reached into his pocket, and fumbled with something inside. "Getting the idiots at your university to trust me, finding you, getting the police to let me talk to you." His other hand, the one not in his pocket, reached out and grabbed hold of Tucker's neck.

"What...what do you-"

"Now here's the deal. The original plan was for me to just keep talking, getting you to reveal what you knew. Unfortunately, you clearly don't know anything and my superior is getting edgy. So we're going to play a game."

From out of his pocket he drew the meanest looking knife Tucker had ever seen. And coming from someone who had once fought the Reds, that was saying a lot.

"The game's rules-" continued the Therapist, pausing only to briefly glance towards the office door. "-are simple. Tell me what I want. And you get to die a little quicker and little less painfully. So, first and only question."

He leaned in, the knife pointing downwards to between Tucker's legs.

"The scar. Why do you have it?"

And that was when the wall exploded and Tucker's terrible, not great at all day got even worse, if possible.

...

"Sir."

"Counselor." The Director turned around, as per usual his dark glasses showing nothing. "I trust that you have good news. And if you don't, I suggest you calculate your next words very, very carefully."

"It is too early to confirm anything yet, but it would appear that there has been a explosion on the outskirts of Blood Gulch."

"So if I was to turn on the television and find out it was at a certain address along the lines of...343 Bungie Lane, would it be logical to assume that Agent Massachusetts's mission did not go as predicted?"

"It is...more than that, Director...she's there."

The Director's fingers locked together in a steeple formation. "Ah."

"They appear to be...engaging in a fight."

"Ah."

"Sir, what would you advise-"

"Did Rhodes give Wyoming the information?"

"As planned. He is heading there now to meet-"

"Good. Then amend the orders that our operative must give Wyoming. Tell him that they need to take out Texas first. At all costs."

...

"Well well well." The mocking laughter of the therapist rang out. Tucker moaned and tried to ignore the distinct feeling that part of the wall had fallen on his ankle. "I was not expecting this...all this risk for him? That'll look good on the grave-"

Tucker poked his head up, and was therefore just in time to see someone, clad entirely in black, strike the Therapist with a rather impressive Size 10 boot right to the chest.

"Stay down Mass. You really don't want to fight this fight." The figure in black ignored Mass, walked over and tugged Tucker up, none too gently.

"Uh...thank you?"

No response. The figure was ignoring him.

"Hey, dude, don't be-"

"Get back, now." It wasn't a snarl or a shout, but Tucker got the feeling that he would be punched in the face for not obeying, so he did so. As he did, he glanced down. The person known as Mass had climbed back to his feet.

"Good kick. Haven't let up then." His eyes flashed once more. "But that boy isn't getting out of here alive."

"Dude, did I piss in your cereal or something?!"

"If you leave now, Mass, then you can avoid a lot of pain." Texas paused. "Ah hell, you're not going to, are you?"

"No stopping me now. Having such a good time."

It was hard to tell what happened next, because Tucker's eyes were still somewhat impaired thanks to all of the dust floating in the air, and the effect of being slammed into a wall repeatedly would also not help. But to his eyes, Mass seemed to change suddenly. His navy blue suit suddenly seemed less like a suit and more like feathers, clinging to his body. His nose looked less like a massive car horn and more like a beak.

"My god." Texas sounded somewhat disturbed. "I didn't think the experiments got that far."

"WILL SOMEONE PLEASE TELL ME WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON!?" wailed Tucker.

Mass, or whatever the hell the thing that had once been Mass, grinned. Have you ever seen a grinning bird? It's unnerving. Even more so when it's attached to a larger than life body.

And then he glided towards them, razor sharp talons ripping through his finger nails. With a single swipe, he slashed open the fabric that protected Texas's body. Wincing, Texas launched a series of kicks. The first three hit, winding Mass, but the fourth one was sloppy, allowing him to grab hold of her leg and twist. Hard.

The cracking noise was enough to make Tucker almost throw up what little lunch he had. Texas, however, merely let out a very quiet "Motherfucker." before headbutting Mass. Mass was still grinning, despite the fact that Texas's attack had left him somewhat dazed. He slashed once more, and even as Texas raised arms covered in what appeared to be kevlar, Tucker watched in horror as the talons slashed through, cutting deep into the skin and drawing blood.

"You can't save him!" mocked Mass, his left hand drawing back as far as it could. "You've already lost-"

There was a rather squishy noise, the kind that one might imagine a kidney making once squeezed too hard. Mass looked down, shock for the first time breaking through on his face. He placed a hand to his side, staring in horrified fascination at the blood that soaked through his feathers.

Tucker stepped back, his hand shaking, dropping the knife. Texas steadied, limping forward to stare at Mass. "You stupid asshole. You could have just-"

"Left? Like you?" Mass laughed. "Oh trust me. Leaving was the worse thing you ever did. You missed out on so much-"

The gunshot echoed around the building. Mass flopped backwards, his body hitting the chair and slumping over it. If you took away the stab wound and the gunshot right to his heart, he looked as though he was just nonchalantly relaxing.

"You-"

Texas turned to face Tucker. "You're coming with me."

...

Texas's car was relatively decent. This was Tucker's first sign that whoever this stranger was, they weren't from around her.e. Blood Gulch cars didn't shine for long. They stank with the aroma of the dust around them, and most sand got in the pours no matter how much you scrubbed.

"I'm driving."

"With that leg?!" Tucker glanced back. "Not that I care or anything, but do you want me to drop off to a hospital-"

"No. Start driving. We need to get to this...Caboose."

"Awww, but do we?"

"Yes." Texas pulled out the gun.

"Fair point, fair point I was just giving you another point of view I'm driving!" Tucker babbled as he turned the keys into the ignition. The car started smoothly (Another sign that this car wasn't long in Blood Gulch, usually it took at least half a hour for their cars to start up) and then, Tucker slowly eased it forward.

Into a mailbox.

"Ah-heh...er...sorry, hold on."

The car reversed backwards into the sidewalk, smacking into a lamp-post.

"Nearly got it!"

"Oh for god's sake!"

For the first time, Tucker turned his head to the passenger seat. The voice had definitely not been Texas's own. The voice was one Tucker recognized. But he didn't want to accept it.

Church glared angrily at the slack-jawed expression of surprise on Tucker's face. "Don't you fucking scream."

"I-"

"Don't do it."

"How-"

"I'M SERIOUS-"

Tucker began screaming. Church let out a groan of pure loathing, whether towards Tucker, Texas, himself or the situation was not clear, and punched the dashboard. Or at least, he would have had his hand not gone completely through it.

...

Meanwhile, back in the house, Mass's body lay there, prone and unmoving. The light had vanished from his eyes, his pulse beat no more and the smell was suddenly very, very potent.

He was dead.

Then a second later, he wasn't.

Standing up, he stared at his hands. **"Oh this is very interesting."** he remarked, in a voice completely different to that he had previously spoken in. **"Relatively muscular, clearly worked out a lot on leg day, very handsome voice even before I got to him...yes, I believe this shall suffice."** He smiled, and it was very clear that whatever was taking control of Mass's body was very unused to smiling. **"Now, Allison shouldn't be too far away. She really needs to remember how grand our partnership was. I love dropping exposition to myself out loud. Mwahahaha."**

He paused. **"First though. New pants."**

 **...**

 **Ladies and gentlemen, meet Omega. More information will be forthcoming in the next chapter.**


	3. Chapter 3

**I thank those of you who have reviewed for the kind words, and I hope you enjoy! This chapter will hopefully give a little more of a insight into what this world is like at the moment, and also will maybe advance the story? Maybe? Fingers crossed you got at least one or two laughs out of it.**

...

"You're quiet. You're never quiet. Are you sulking? ...GOD DAMN IT TUCKER!"

"SWEET MARY AND JOSEPH, DON'T DO THAT!" Tucker grabbed the steering wheel and fought to keep the car under control. "You nearly gave me a heart attack! And there's only one time it's acceptable to have a heart attack, and that's when there's some relief on hand, am I right?"

"Keep driving." growled Tex.

"So..." Tucker paused for a moment, trying to wonder which of the many questions jostling around in his head would have the honor of being asked first. "You're...a ghost."

"No. I'm a potted plant."

"Smart ass." Tucker turned his head back to the road, thankful once again that most people hated the idea of leaving their homes here in Blood Gulch. "So, why are you a ghost?"

"I don't know! I was there in the park, there was this big bang-"

"Hehehehe-"

"Real mature, Tucker. But yeah, the next thing I know, I'm standing in the freezing rain and halfway through a wall." Church glowered at no one in particular.

"So, you didn't see God, then?"

"Unless God was that one hobo who kept begging me for money, I don't think so. Motherfucker still owes me his right leg." Church rolled his eyes. "So, next thing I know, I'm stuck in this stupid ass park for the next two years, and apparently no one even noticed me! Not even when I trotted out the old 'Your soul is damned' bit! They just ignored me! Except for the cats, which tried to mark me as part of the territory."

"Wow. You are a shitty ghost."

"I also saw you a couple of times."

Tucker turned pale. "So, last Friday, when I was-"

"I saw you jerking off, yes. You need to start asking yourself questions about what you want with that rock."

"How dare you mock my love?! I shall not be labelled!"

"Does he always babble this much?" growled Tex.

"Oh. Oh you don't know the half of it! I'm surprised he hasn't hit on you yet, he's usually much more forward! As in Charge of the Light Brigade forward, because his pick up lines are disasters waiting to happen-"

"Hit on him?" Tucker frowned. "No offence Tex, but I don't swing that way."

"Him? ...Tucker, Tex is a woman."

Tucker's mind briefly went into a strange wasteland of thought, where for a moment, all he could hear, think, see or even comprehend were the gears that was his mind slowly turning to make the connections between the information.

He was faintly aware of Church screaming aloud about something along the lines of "CAR! CAR! CAR!" but he didn't care. He was too busy trying to reconcile how his clear macho image had failed to get Tex's blood pumping.

As the car mounted the curb, Tucker was snapped out of his dazed state by Tex punching him in the back of the head. "OkayokayokayOKAY!" He braked hard. He held his breath, and then turned back to Tex. "So...you're a chick."

Tex said nothing. Tucker had the feeling that her eyes were currently piercing his skull with a glare sharper than any witty comeback line he could come up with in the next four to seven years.

"Huh. Neat...can I get a explanation, please?"

Church walked back through the dashboard (And Tucker immediately began wondering if he was slowly going insane because that didn't freak him out nearly as much as it should have) and flipped Tucker off. "God's sake, Tex, I'd like a explanation too. And besides, I don't want to keep stopping and starting every time you drop a bombshell on him."

Tex very calmly leaned back. Her fist clenched, and she was clearly imagining squeezing Tucker's skull like a wet sponge. And enjoying it. Finally, she reached up to her throat and pressed what appeared to be a tattoo of some kind. "Fine." she said at last, as she let out a huge breath of fresh air. Her voice was different now. Less overly gravelly. "Okay, now, save any stupid questions until- Actually, you know what? I'm giving you too much credit. Don't talk at all until I'm finished."

"Rude." Tucker began gently backing up the car as Tex continued.

"I'm Agent Texas. I work- worked, for a special branch of the government, dealing with supernatural incidents." Tex reached forward and squeezed down on Tucker's arm, just in time to cause him to swerve to avoid the lamp-post he was going to hit. "For the most part, we tended to operate where most militarizes...can't. With affairs that are decidedly not mortal."

She leaned back and examined her wound, pensively. "The world as you know is that it's a crazy, scary, fucked up place, with no real reason for why it is that way or how you can stop it."

"And the supernatural changes that?"

"No. It's still a crazy, scary, fucked up place, with no real reason for why it is that way or how you can stop it. It just has more vampires and werewolves in it. Also, not speaking. Remember? I'll kill you for free."

"Already dead!" Church said smugly.

"It would not be my first ti- Dipshit in the front, don't say what I think you're going to say, or I'll leave you to the assholes chasing you." Tucker zipped his mouth a millisecond before saying a certain series of words. "Now, where was I? The real world, the one that you never hear about on the news or in anything other than shady tabloids, is full of monsters. Vampires, werewolves, zombies, demons, the occasional sentient pile of spaghetti...don't ask. And it's all very much wanting to eat us alive. So we worked together to try and stop it. Unfortunately, in recent years, the Freelancers have taken a...different approach to dealing with things. Take a left."

Tucker frowned, but turned left none the less. "What caused it?"

Tex raised the gun. "You know, I could probably kill you right now and no one would care."

"It's true." admitted Church. "But he's got a point, Tex."

A long, hard sigh emitted from the Freelancer "For the most part, the man in charge was a dick. A real dick. He started doing experiments to make us faster, stronger, better-"

"Harder?"

"-and sometimes it worked." Tex looked down at her hand. "Sometimes...not so much. The man who tried to kill you, Massachusetts, he was one of the special candidates. There were two groups. One group was called 'The Enhanced'. They volunteered to be test subjects for a series of modifications done to their bodies. Mass was one of the lucky ones. He got injected with the blood of the Tengu, and so he became-"

"What's a tengu?"

"Creature from Japanese culture." Tex noticed Tucker still looked blank. "Avian features?" Blank. "Believed originally to be harbingers of war?" Blanker than a blank canvas "...So you remember the Mighty Morphin Power Rangers movie?"

"Oh sweet, the bird things!"

"It shouldn't surprise me that I needed to reference that. It really shouldn't."

"Okay, so he can turn into a bird. Terrific. " Church rolled his eyes. "But let's get to what's really important! What the hell happened to me?"

"Well, you died."

"You astound me, Tex."

"I astound myself frequently."

"Can you two stop flirting please?"

"Oh, what, you jealous buddy!? Cause I got to tap that-"

...

The smoking wreck of the car was clearly going to be a metaphor for how well the mission was going to go, was Tex's first thought as she practically frog-marched Tucker along the road. Actually, that was wrong. Her first thought was namely that shooting Tucker would be a mercy so understandable that no juror in the world could commit her, and she could probably manage to get his family to apologize to her for having to deal with such a-

Words to that effect are too graphic even by Blood Gulch's standards, so we'll just move right along.

"Okay, so maybe I should have told him we were seeing each other a bit more...tactfully."

Tex raised a eyebrow.

"Okay, maybe I should have spoon fed it to him."

Tex's expression was emotionless. Yet somehow it indicated that Church had a very big likelihood of somehow dying a second time. Painfully.

"All right, maybe I shouldn't have brought it up. At all."

"YOU TWO-" Tucker gestured wildly for a moment, unable to comprehend the idea that Church (CHURCH, of all people) and this person who shot bird monsters and was very willing to murder him had slept together. It was a bit like trying to comprehend the average politician's statement. Even if you got to the original meaning of it, it would probably hurt your mind to think about it. "-TOGETHER? IN BED?"

"Well, not just in bed-"

It was unknown how Tex managed to punch a incorporeal being square in the jaw. She managed it. Church shut up, and they managed to cover a good quarter of a mile before he spoke up again. "So. Ghosts...any chance you could run that by me?"

"Ghosts exist. You are one."

Church flipped her off. "I mean, why am I a ghost? I didn't see any ghosts around the park while I was...on my own, you know?"

"That's because yours is probably one of the few violent deaths they've had there in the last few years. For the most part, we've been able to catalog and remove most of the more notable ghosts from the Blood Gulch area, but recently we've been occupied with...other matters." Tex's hand tightened on the muzzle of the gun. "Ghosts come about when someone dies in a violent way before their time. I don't know exactly how it works, but it's like...suspension with full pay. You're technically dead, but you don't get sent to judgement yet, you still get to stay upon Earth. Wish you weren't, you look like garbage."

"So...why did it take you two years to notice me, again?"

Tex smirked. "Again, civil war. But also, you were barely a blip. No newspapers, no internet news, nothing."

"Oh come on, they didn't even give me a touching funeral service?"

"We dumped your body in a ditch." Tucker informed him.

"I hate you. Hate you so much."

...

The rest of the journey was passed in silence. This was a good thing, as Tucker felt that Tex and Church's UST was threatening to take corporeal form and strangle the living daylights out of him. What a loss to the world of romance that would be!

They reached the hospital at last, and gazed up at it in apprehension.

Imagine, if you will, every stereotypical mad scientist's castle from the films of the 30's to 60's, complete with imposing looking doorways that seemed to loom over the average visitor (Perhaps looking for a easy way to dispose of Granny and wipe your hands clean of any potential responsibility that you may have for her) and every so often, if you were very lucky and wished upon a star, lightning striking down and randomly hitting parts of the hospital.

Now imagine someone had clumsily hauled up a giant banner of cloth over the massive doors, and had equally as clumsily written the word 'HUSPITALE' upon it in sprawling handwriting. Clearly, whoever had written this was someone who had failed the spelling bee more times than Caboose had, and also appeared to have wax for hands.

Tex turned to Tucker and Church. "You two, stay here. I'll go in. I know this type of hospital, I know how to deal with the staff."

"You've fought Frankenstien before then."

"Frankenstein was the scientist, Church. Not the monster."

"Oooh, well look at you, Austen!" Church rolled his eyes. It was very odd to see a ghost do that. "Go ahead. We'll watch your back. Well, I will. Tucker will be watching something else entirely-"

"CHURCH!" hissed Tucker.

Tex gave them a Look, the kind that began with a capital L, and then walked up to the doors. The two watched as she knocked rather aggressively on the door, it creaked open a bit, and she was practically yanked in by a massively large hand.

The second the door closed shut with a echoing slam, Church turned to Tucker. "Okay, listen, I didn't want to bring this up in front of Tex, but I think we should start running. Now. Well, you start running, at the moment, I'm kind of attached to you!"

"I'm touched, but-"

"Not in that way, asshole!" Church looked as though he was going to be pulling out his own hair, if he could. "Just...listen, right? So, the reason I broke up with Tex was because she...well, she...she went a little nuts. Before I moved here, I was sort of resting in Sidewinder along with this group of cool kids at this one bar at Sidewinder."

"Think I was a good kid, Church?"

"Tucker, don't go Caboose on me. So, Sidewinder's a cold place, right, and the heating's broken, because of cause it is, it wouldn't be my life if everything didn't decide to screw with me. So, me and my pal Jimmy, we head on to this really dull looking hotel to see if we can get a room for the night. And he's going on and on about how he's going to marry this one girl, and how they're so happy that they saved themselves until they're married, and in my head, I'm just thinking about how if I die, at the very least I'll have had some pretty good fucks before I'm gone, you know, I'm not going to die with many regrets except, well, that I'm dying- Where was I going with this?

"Er, Tex?"

"Right. So, this dude Mickey starts screaming like a banshee. Seriously, "LIKE A BANSHEE!" I wonder what his parents thought about those words being on his gravestne. Anyway, so we get outside, and there's Tex. She's holding a knife by the handle, and the blade's sticking into Mickey's chest. I don't remember much what about the next part, only that one minute she was in front of us, and the next she had managed to detach Kevin's spine from the rest of his body and started using it as a whip. Jimmy was the last one to go. Poor bastard."

"How'd he die?"

"I'm not sure. I'm pretty sure that at some point, she planted him in the ground like a vegetable, and then kicked him in the face a good deal, and I'm pretty sure she crushed his junk at some point...as you do. At that point, I just started running. Surprised she left me alive." Church turned to Tucker. "Look, wherever she goes, she's...she's got one of those split personality things. One moment she's relatively calm, and she sounds like...well, like you've just seen, and the next minute, she goes nuts. Really nuts. It's impressive that she manages to fake such a deep voice, actually."

"Yeah, what is that?"

"Oh, the tat?" Church shrugged. "I think it's some sort of spell thing. You know, tap it and it changes your entire appearance."

"How do you know that?"

Church was about to answer when the sound of gunfire cut through the air like a knife through butter. The two looked at each other for a moment, unsure what to do.

"That's...probably not going to be a problem." Tucker said.

The windows, upon Tucker's final word, exploded outwards as Tex came flying through, back first. She landed with a very loud and very painful sounding thud.

"Tex! Are you okay?!"

"Eat a dick!"

"She's fine." Church glanced inside. "So, do you want to go in, or would you prefer to have your legs remain attached to your body?"

"Dude, fuck her, you just got done telling me about how we should ditch her-" Tucker caught the frantic gestures that Church was making and quickly changed tack "-her rather terrible car! Yeah, you know, we didn't really need-"

He never got to finish the sentence, as the door to the hospital toppled forward, missing Tex's legs by a few inches at most.

The figure standing in the doorway was dressed in what can only be described as SWAT gear, mixed in with a little of space gear. The body was covered from head to toe in what looked like aqua-blue armor of a kind, save for the fact that it seemed to crackle with energy. Symbols that Tucker had never seen before were placed in certain areas, each one seeming to be the focal point for all of the energy. The figure wore a helmet, one that seemed designed to protect the wearer's identity at all costs.

"Agent Texas." The voice sounded deep, but Tucker was aware that it was of the same odd nature of Tex's fake voice. "Fancy meeting you here."

"God damn it, not now!" Tex hobbled to her feet. "I'd ask how you survived, but I really shouldn't be surprised."

"Drop them, NOW!"

"What? You think the Director's going to be pleased that you're carrying out his dirty work for you?!" Tex spat "Then you're a even bigger fool than I thought!"

"Did you just...spit inside your own helmet?"

Tex paused. "It's...it's exposed contact with these idiots."

"Uh...Agent Carolina? I know that you're probably busy kicking ass, but I'm pretty sure Grif's sort of passed out from all the blood, and the rookie's trying on the new gowns they have in the emergency room, so..." Simmons poked his head around. "Oh god, Tucker?! What are you doing here!?"

For a moment, no one moved. No one spoke. It was as if someone had captured a still image upon a camera.

The first person to move was going to have a LOT of attention on them.

...

The doctor was not entirely convinced he hadn't started hallucinating, as he stared at the figure sitting in the passenger chair of his car.

It had been a normal day for him, the doctor thought with some interest. He was on his way to the clinic, to try and make sure that his patients were okay, and then quite out of nowhere this...man had hobbled out of a nearby ally, the sounds of a babbling homeless man echoing around, and walked across the street as if he was merely crossing a pleasant field.

The car hadn't stopped in time.

Somehow, the man was still alive. Not only that, but he appeared to be somewhat chipper. The fact that he was still moving was, in and of itself, a small miracle (The Doctor's ideas of miracles was very limited. Being in a tiny practice like his meant that you rarely got to see real miracles) but the fact that he hadn't mentioned anything about lawsuits and instead had politely asked for a ride to the nearby Blood Gulch area was a even bigger miracle.

"So-" said the doctor brightly "-any reason why you came to Valhalla? We don't usually get...visitors of your kind?"

The man looked at the doctor for a moment. His beak like nose sniffed automatically, and the faint smell of burning feathers was still present to a extent. But he smiled. Well, he tried to smile. His smile was one that suggested that he hadn't used his facial muscles in quite a while. "Ah, Valhalla was it? Funny. I, er, was backpacking. My friends, real pranksters that they are, ditched me and stole my backpack, so I had to hike here."

"Oh, that's a bummer. And again, sorry about the whole...car thing?"

"Perfectly fine. I'm just glad I could find someone willing to give me a lift, Mr-"

"Oh, my name is Dufresne, Doctor Frank Dufresne!"

"Ah! A doctor! How novel! What field are you in? Psychology? Biological?"

"Veterinarian!"

"Ah." That usually shut up most people. Frank gave this one more credit that he at least followed it up with a question. "So...a fun job, then?"

"Yep!" Dufresne's hands gripped the wheel so hard that it looked like that he may just rip it off Bill Bixby style and layeth the smackdown upon the road. "Fun times indeed!" He took a deep breath. "So, what are you going to Blood Gulch for?"

"Ah, old flame. We may be getting back together."

"Cool man!" Frank gave a congratulatory pat on his passenger's back. It was like hitting meat in a freezer. "And, er, what's your name?"

The man stared ahead for a moment. "I'm O'Malley. Call me O'Malley."


End file.
